Spring (a text of Philippe Jaccottet translated by Vadim Bystritski)
It happened almost too fast, the first leaves, the bushing, while I was still longing for a little more snow, longing to see, to feel its movement, its slow flight, a silenced appeasement, so maternal and pure. Now in a haze, in its pink light, both in the morning and evening, making the air appear as a venous rose petal, giving one an impression of perceiving through a closed eyelid, its coral veil.
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Presque trop vite, les premières feuilles, le buissonnement, alors que j’avais souhaité encore la neige, de la voir, d’en sentir le mouvement, le vol lent, l’apaisement silencieux, maternel et pur. Maintenant, des fumées. Et cette lumière rose, le matin ou le soir, comme si l’air était un pétale veiné de rose, comme si l’on regardait à travers une paupière, un voile rose.